


Near and Far

by ForestFable



Category: BBC Merlin, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur has Lots of Feelings, Arthur has daddy issues, Arthur is bad at feelings but oh god he's trying his best, Arthur isn't king yet, Arthur-centric, Canon Universe, Ealdor, Essetir is the name of Cenred's kingdom, Firelight is possibly even sexier than candlelight, Horses deserve names, Idiots in Love, Inspired by S1E10 The Moment of Truth, Jealousy, M/M, Merlin is just so pretty, Merlin uses magic all the time and Arthur never once suspects him, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining, Pining Arthur, Revelations, Slow Burn, and also mommy issues, because he's a bit of a himbo but he's also going to be a great king, both of which are canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestFable/pseuds/ForestFable
Summary: Arthur was used to being trotted out by Uther as Camelot’s shiny, young ambassador. Though he didn’t care much for Cenred, he certainly wasn’t afraid of him. No, it wasn’t Essetir that bred knots in his stomach.For reasons that Arthur did not yet understand, it was the humble village of Ealdor that loomed specterlike over the journey ahead.When a diplomatic visit to Cenred's kingdom takes Arthur and Merlin through Ealdor, Arthur must confront a secret he has kept from himself since Merlin arrived in Camelot.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 88





	1. Into the Woods

The first light of an autumn sun set the reds and golds of Arthur’s chambers ablaze. Arthur yawned at the windows, arms outstretched to either side of him. Merlin’s fingers brushed their way across his chest and arms while fastening Arthur’s tunic and armor. The comforting familiarity of this daily ritual made Arthur’s eyelids heavy.

“We were supposed to leave _at_ first light, you know. Not _around_ first light,” Arthur said through another yawn.

Merlin continued his work, unfazed. “Things take longer when only one of you is capable of dressing himself.”

Arthur scoffed. “I’m _capable_ of dressing myself, Merlin, I’m just benevolent enough to employ you to do it instead.”

“Feels more like torture than benevolence.” Merlin muttered as he finished with Arthur’s breastplate. “Come on, sire, we’re already late,” he said, hurrying out of the room before Arthur could respond. Arthur followed with a huff.

As he descended the castle’s great stone staircase, Arthur could see Merlin preparing the horses in the courtyard below. Arthur had noticed that horses stood patiently for Merlin, their ears flicking to follow his movements. Merlin had a habit of whispering to them as he moved about, tightening girths and adjusting their packs.

Arthur placed his hand on Cendir’s long nose. The great grey stallion regarded him with watchful eyes. The packs on his back indicated a long and toilsome journey—far from the thrilling pace of the fox hunts he was bred for. He snorted and stamped in preemptive protest at being used like a lowly packhorse. Merlin’s favorite mare, a fine-boned bay named Fennel, stood amiably.

Merlin secured the last of their packs onto Fennel’s saddle. “All set, sire.”

Arthur nodded to Merlin before turning back to the castle. Uther and Morgana joined them in the courtyard to bid them farewell.

“I can think of no better ambassador for the kingdom.” Uther said as he clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Give Cenred my best.” Uther clasped Arthur in a perfunctory embrace before starting back up the steps. Morgana bid Arthur and Merlin a safe journey, kissing them both on the cheek before following Uther back into the castle with a yawn.

Merlin helped Arthur up onto Cendir’s tall back before scrabbling up into his own saddle. Without another word, the two set off into the cold morning air for Essetir.

>>>

Cendir and Fennel walked side by side through the forest, bickering every so often, as mares and stallions do.

“Is there anything I should know about her?” Arthur said, breaking a momentary silence. “Your mum, I mean.”

Arthur watched as a warm smile blossomed across Merlin’s face. He paused to think. “Her name is Hunith, she doesn’t care for titles, and she is an excellent judge of character.” Merlin held up a finger for each of these facts.

Ealdor was halfway between Camelot and Cenred’s court—a perfect waystation. Merlin had suggested that they break their journey in Ealdor and stay with his mother for a night. A messenger had been sent ahead to inform Hunith to expect them in three days’ time.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Arthur could already tell that the answer would not be in his favor.

“It means your royal ‘charms’ won’t work on her. If you act like a prat, you’ll be treated like a prat.” Merlin paused to give Arthur a sidelong glance, his eyes bright with laughter at Arthur’s exasperation. “Ealdor is across the border so don’t expect any special treatment.”

Arthur scoffed in response, feigning apathy. He saw Merlin turn forward again from the corner of his eye, apparently fooled by the display. Arthur sighed, privately relieved that his nerves had not betrayed him.

Arthur was used to being trotted out by Uther as Camelot’s shiny, young ambassador. Though he didn’t care much for Cenred, he certainly wasn’t afraid of him. No, it wasn’t Essetir that bred knots in his stomach.

For reasons that Arthur did not yet understand, it was the humble village of Ealdor that loomed specterlike over the journey ahead.

>>>

Winter had come early to Albion. The breath of the men and horses alike puffed out in great clouds in the crisp, cutting air. Though only late October, the sky was padded with thick grey clouds that now dusted the forest with snow. 

They would have to make camp early tonight, Arthur thought to himself. His gaze flicked uneasily to the deepening red of Merlin’s nose, ears, and cheeks. Merlin stared straight ahead, probably concentrating on the path to take his mind off the cold.

“We should try to find some shelter before this storm worsens,” Arthur suggested, careful to keep his gaze forward lest he be caught staring. “I’ve been hunting around here—there should be a few caves in that ridge up ahead.” Merlin simply nodded in response, teeth now chattering audibly.

The light was failing by the time they found suitable shelter in a shallow but high-ceilinged cave with enough of an overhang that even the horses could escape the rapidly thickening snowfall. Arthur braved the storm in search of firewood as Merlin unsaddled the horses.

“Let’s hope this isn’t too wet to light,” Arthur said as he dumped snow-covered wood at Merlin’s feet. Merlin’s eyes narrowed in annoyance as he retrieved the flint and set to work.

Arthur decided that exploring the cave would be more interesting than watching Merlin attempt to set fire to sodden wood. He ran his hand along the cave’s wall until he reached its deepest point. The stone here was smooth and cold. Arthur imagined he was touching the very heart of the ridge.

Abruptly, Arthur’s shadow grew tall and dark on the cave wall as the feeble grey light behind him became a blaze of orange.

Merlin’s smile was bright and triumphant when Arthur turned around. He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Well, that was lucky.”

Merlin merely rolled his eyes before setting to work on their dinner.

Arthur settled down by the fire—closer to Merlin than necessary—with his back toward the deeper recesses of the cave. He had sat here because it would be warmest with the fire between him and the storm—not because he wanted to be close to Merlin. At least that’s what Arthur told himself. He told Merlin this, too, when Arthur’s knee bumping against his caused Merlin’s eyes to flick questioningly up to Arthur’s face.

Arthur thought he caught a small smile tugging at Merlin’s lips as he turned away, but he might have imagined it. A new heat rose on his cheeks. He blamed the warmth of the fire.


	2. Playing with Fire

A high, thin wail startled Arthur awake. The glowing embers of the fire did little to help him identify the strange contours of his surroundings. He sat up in the dark, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. After a moment, he remembered yesterday’s journey—the storm, the cave.

A gust of snow-chilled wind ripped through the cave, bringing with it another high-pitched screech. The now dying fire had let the cold creep back to where Arthur sat. Arthur wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders and rose gingerly. He took a step toward the fire before tripping over an unidentifiable lump on the ground. The lump grumbled and shifted but seemed generally harmless. He didn’t realize that Merlin had gone to sleep so close to him.

Arthur stepped carefully past Merlin and felt his way along the cave wall for their extra wood. Once burning brightly again, Arthur used the firelight to check on the horses. They had backed farther into the cave’s mouth, huddling together against the buffeting winds. Arthur squeezed past them, adopting Merlin’s whispering habit to avoid spooking them in the process. Cendir gave an irritated huff—either at being woken or at being left out in the cold—but seemed otherwise unscathed. Fennel’s eye’s drooped as she looked up at Arthur, widening only slightly as another howling wind echoed through the cave.

Arthur squinted out into the night but it was still too dark to see anything. He suspected that this storm would delay them by a half a day at least.

Arthur made his way back into their shelter, checking the fire again before stepping over Merlin to his place by the cave’s back wall. The dirt floor beneath him leached the warmth from his back as he tried to find a comfortable spot. He paused mid-thrash at the sound of Merlin stirring, afraid that he had woken him.

Merlin rolled onto his back but didn’t seem to reach consciousness. Arthur let out a breath of relief, which surprised him. He hadn’t realized that he’d felt guilty. 

Arthur’s internal qualms were halted by the soft sound of Merlin’s lips parting. It was a curious sound, a slight click and a breathy sigh. It made Arthur very aware of Merlin’s nearness. Arthur could have sworn that they hadn’t been lying this close together when they went to sleep. From his position on his side—his back nearly touching the cave wall—Arthur could have touched Merlin without even fully extending his arm.

Something about the combination of Merlin’s closeness and the soft light of the fire froze Arthur in his place. He had never seen Merlin like this before. He had never seen _anyone_ like this before. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed. His cheeks were flushed from the fire’s warmth and his lips looked swollen and red and so vividly alive. This version of Merlin was a painting, a sculpture—a type of art that transcended ordinary beauty.

A wave of self-consciousness tore Arthur’s gaze from Merlin. It felt so intimate to see Merlin like this at all, let alone at such close range. Arthur began to consider whether he was duty-bound to sleep facing the wall to stop himself from staring at an unconscious victim when said unconscious victim spoke:

“Ar…thur…” Merlin sighed.

If the sight of Merlin’s flushed, sleeping face had flustered Arthur, hearing his own name come breathily from Merlin’s lips left him undone. An unfamiliar bloom of energy ripped through Arthur’s body, tensing his every muscle.

Surely _now_ Arthur was duty-bound to turn away—for the sake of saving face, at the very least. If Merlin woke up and saw him like this—tense, reddened, wide awake—he would have questions.

And Arthur didn’t have answers.

He looked away from Merlin, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling for a long moment before clamping his eyes shut altogether. He turned gingerly to face the wall, careful not to wake Merlin.

Merlin mumbled something that could have been ‘milk’ or ‘magic,’ but Arthur tried to concentrate on the sound of the storm beating against the ridge.

Arthur’s heart was still pounding against his ribcage. A sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. His hand was shaking as he reached out to press it against the cool wall of the cave.

It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t know what this was. No, a part of Arthur had always known. But a bigger part hadn’t wanted to know it. Or deal with it.

This was just a fluke, though. It had caught him off guard. Could have happened to anyone, he reasoned. It didn’t have to change anything—anything at all.

Arthur lay awake listening to the storm for a long time, never once turning away from the wall.

>>>

The next morning, Arthur was surprised to wake up—surprised that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

The harsh morning light changed the cave so much that Arthur could almost convince himself last night had been a dream. Almost.

He had been woken by the sound of Merlin bustling about. He hesitated to turn away from the cave wall, irrationally afraid that Merlin would still look as he had last night, and that Merlin would see what it did to him. Arthur’s pride wouldn’t let him cower in the corner for long, though, and he tried to act naturally as he sat up and yawned.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Arthur merely grunted in response, the exhaustion of lying awake most of the night seeming to catch up with him all at once. 

Arthur had to squint as he made his way into the circle of warmth around the fire. The mouth of the cave was too bright to look at directly. Probably the snow, Arthur reasoned. And Merlin must have moved the horses.

By the time Arthur’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, Merlin was pushing a bowl of something warm into his hands. Arthur glanced up at him reflexively, noticing with relief that Merlin looked familiar and ordinary in the light of day.

The bowl was full of some sort of porridge. Arthur was halfway through his before noticing that Merlin didn’t have any. He furrowed his brow at Merlin, mouth still full, and raised his own bowl in question.

“I ate about an hour ago. Snow’s still too thick to ride in so I thought I’d let you sleep.” The normalcy of Merlin’s tone relieved some of the tension in Arthur’s shoulders. Merlin leaned back against the wall opposite Arthur. “Oh, and thanks for restoking the fire last night.” Arthur froze mid-chew. “We’d have been icicles otherwise.”

Had he been awake? Did he know? Had he seen?

The forced flippancy in Arthur’s voice sounded more terse than casual. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken you.”

Merlin waved a hand dismissively, eyes squinting out into the snow. “No, no, you didn’t. Just noticed the extra logs on it this morning.” Arthur resumed breathing. “I think it’s raining.” Arthur leaned his head back against the cold stone wall as Merlin got up to inspect the weather conditions.

Merlin didn’t know—couldn’t know. Arthur would pretend it had never happened.

Even if a part of him resisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I do love it when Arthur pines his hardest. And this is only the beginning, my friends xx


	3. The Forest of Essetir

Hours of rain followed the storm, tapering off around midday. The blinding white of the snow-laden forest melted into sodden but familiar greys and browns. The path would be muddy, but manageable. With the remaining daylight, they should be able to reach the edge of the forest and hopefully find drier ground for the night.

Merlin suggested that they stay another night in the shelter of the cave. They were already running late, he reasoned, so they might as well wait for the ground to dry up a bit. But Arthur insisted that they push on, fabricating a fear of endangering Camelot’s relationship with Essetir through their tardiness. 

Really, Arthur was just eager to put last night behind them.

Arthur ran a hand along Cendir’s muscular neck as Merlin secured his saddle. He was surprised to find that Cendir was dry down to his skin. Both horses had been drenched an hour ago when Merlin brought them back into the shelter of the cave. Perhaps a good omen for the journey ahead, Arthur mused. Cendir pawed at the ground in frustration, restless to set off again but loath to squelch through the mud. Even Fennel looked unenthusiastic.

They left as the sun began to descend in its arc. The sky was a pale blue, cloudless and harsh. Their pace was slowed by the slippery mud and fallen branches, but they made good progress nonetheless. Arthur wondered if he was out of the fire and into the frying pan, as it were, with the cave behind him and Ealdor ahead. He didn’t know what he expected to find in Ealdor, but an unconscious part of him sensed that it would be even more testing than last night in the cave.

The ambiguous dread of entering Merlin’s world tormented Arthur, encasing him in a brooding silence. Merlin seemed to notice Arthur’s mood but asked no questions. The two rode on wordlessly until the sun sank behind the mountains.

“This is probably the driest place we’re going to find,” said Merlin, gesturing to a rocky overhang at the edge of the forest. The ground sloped up to meet the rock, creating a small dry patch at its base. It was more of a ledge than a cave and there was barely enough dry ground for two people to sit on, but they would have to make do.

As usual, Arthur set to work collecting firewood while Merlin unpacked the horses. The gathering darkness brought new life to the forest. Even on the cusp of winter, the forest of Essetir was alive with birds and rabbits and other creatures heard but not seen.

Arthur stopped to listen to the sounds of the night, his arms laden with damp logs. There was something about this forest that always left him spellbound. He took a deep pull of the cold night air, hoping that the scent of the pines would settle him.

The storm hadn’t cost them as much ground as Arthur had feared. Here on the edge of the forest, they were only a few miles behind schedule. Merlin reckoned that if they set off at dawn tomorrow, they should reach Ealdor by nightfall.

Arthur gripped the firewood more tightly, trying not to think too deeply about why the prospect of staying in Ealdor—with Merlin’s mother—made him so uneasy. Arthur closed his eyes and tried for a moment to sense something _more_ in this age-old forest, hoping against his better judgment to be given some sort of sign. Perhaps if he hadn’t been a soldier in Uther’s war against magic, Arthur thought to himself, the mystical energy of the forest might have been more willing to help him. Lacking any real knowledge of magic, he wasn’t sure what exactly he hoped the forest might do, but in this moment, Arthur felt a sting of rejection in the proud silence of the trees. Feeling profoundly alone, he turned his back on the dark expanse of the forest and walked back towards the horses.

>>>

The wind picked up as the night deepened. Merlin somehow managed to keep the fire burning long enough to cook a stew, but their lack of cover gave the blustery weather the upper hand. They huddled back against the rock wall and ate in darkness.

Given their meager shelter and lack of fire, Merlin suggested that they sleep side by side and share blankets. “Guess it’s better than dying of frostbite,” Arthur replied blithely, grateful that the darkness hid what felt like a substantial blush.

Both of these things—sleeping close together and layering their blankets—were standard protocol when camping out in the cold. In fact, Arthur and Merlin had slept this way many times in the past when traveling in colder months.

But it felt different now.

There was no fire tonight, but that did little to calm Arthur’s nerves. Being so close to Merlin felt dangerous. Arthur’s body had already betrayed him once—how could he know it wouldn’t do so again?

Arthur offered to sleep on the outside, giving him a potential escape route from Merlin’s closeness. Merlin, apparently too cold and tired to question Arthur’s sudden benevolence, settled down at once at the base of the rock wall.

Arthur settled down as far from Merlin as the dry ground would allow, which was still too close for comfort. After a brief squabble over whether Arthur was hogging the blankets and if, in his royal education, he had ever been taught the concept of _sharing_ , the two laid on their backs in silence. Little pinpricks of starlight sliced through the thinning clouds. The slender curve of the moon gave faint definition to the tops of the pines but cloaked the rest of the forest in shadow.

Arthur laid on his back, his eyes to the stars. He could feel Merlin’s warmth down the entire right side of his body. Arthur couldn’t tell if the heat was from their sheer proximity or if his body was preparing to revolt again. Either way, he was thankful for the extra warmth. The chill of the night was already gnawing coldly at his exposed left side.

Merlin twitched and grunted in the dark, writhing in his usual unconscious restlessness. Arthur laid awake for a long time, eyes open, listening to the creaking of the trees in the wind. He didn’t notice the stars fade away behind his eyelids until they fluttered open again. He wasn’t sure what had woken him—perhaps a branch had fallen. The wind whipping through the pines sent a faint ghostly whine through the forest.

The sky was a bit lighter now, and Arthur felt warmer. Much warmer, in fact.

All of the softness of sleep left Arthur’s body in a rush as he realized that Merlin’s arm was draped across his chest. He kept very still as he snuck a glance at Merlin, who was snoring softly into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s heartbeat thumped erratically against the weight of Merlin’s arm. Still frozen in place, Arthur shut his eyes and focused on taking long, even breaths. Warm tendrils of hope spread outward from his chest as Merlin pulled Arthur closer. His breath puffed innocently on Arthur’s cheek as he mumbled “Gaius, “leeches,” and something that sounded like “waste of talent.” Arthur tried not to shake Merlin awake by laughing.

After a few minutes, Arthur’s pulse slowed. The warm weight of Merlin’s arm relaxed his body back to a state of restfulness while his mind continued to whirr. He didn’t know if he could fall asleep now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Merlin’s closeness, which in the cave had felt like the crackling danger of lightning, was now a fragile thing, rare and gentle. And Arthur didn’t want to miss it. He edged ever so slightly toward Merlin, watching out of slitted eyes to ensure he didn’t wake him. With another grumble of unintelligible words, a still unconscious Merlin shifted in response, dragging himself even further onto Arthur’s chest. He now grunted and sputtered directly into the crook of Arthur’s neck, the rest of his body flush against Arthur’s right side.

Arthur couldn’t stop a small, flushed smile from pulling up the corners of his mouth.

Merlin probably ended up close to Arthur purely as a result of an unconscious search for warmth, Arthur told himself. It probably meant nothing. But a new sensation replaced some of the knots in his stomach—a stubborn flutter of hope. Hope for what, exactly, he didn’t know, but for now he was content to simply listen to the sighing of the pines in the wind, and the sound of Merlin dreaming.

>>>

The crackle of leaves underfoot broke the fragile silence of dawn. The first rays of the sun slanted through the trees, glinting off the layer of frost that traced every line of the forest.

“How much further?” Arthur asked, his breath puffing out in a cloud as he spoke. “I’m freezing.”

“We’re about ten minutes closer than the last time you asked, sire.”

“I can feel you rolling your eyes, _Mer_ lin.” Merlin was out of sight behind him, but he knew he was right all the same.

“It’s just that…” Merlin started but paused.

Arthur turned around in his saddle to face Merlin. “It’s just _what,_ Merlin?”

Merlin’s eyebrows raised in mock innocence as he met Arthur’s glare. “Well, I just didn’t think future kings whined so much.”

The two continued to bicker as they picked their way through the forest.

When Arthur had woken up that morning, Merlin had already built up a fire and was busy packing the horses. He looked up only briefly as Arthur stretched and yawned. Arthur noticed the tips of Merlin’s ears flush pink as he glanced away, saying nothing. Arthur’s pulse thrummed strong and clear, feeding the hope that had taken root within him.

They were only a few hours’ ride from Ealdor now. Arthur found that he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he had been yesterday. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to Ealdor next! Hope you enjoyed this <3 There is some unexpected jealousy in Arthur's future 👀


	4. The Gatekeeper

“You said we’d reach Ealdor by nightfall, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur shaded his eyes against the sun’s horizonal rays as it sank below the tree line ahead.

“Well, it isn’t nightfall yet, is it?” Merlin raised both eyebrows at Arthur, who stared back incredulously.

Arthur swept an arm out to the empty field around them. “The sun is setting as we speak, and we are in the middle of nowhere.”

They were following the course of a river through the lowlands, which, as far as Arthur could see, were populated solely by tall grasses, sparse trees, and the occasional songbird.

“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, sire.” Merlin smiled impishly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his mouth quirked into a grin. “Then we’re both doomed.”

Cendir and Fennel trotted along the soft ground of the riverbank, following the water’s path toward a dense copse of trees. Cendir lifted his feet high and arched his neck gracefully, showcasing the purity of his breeding to an uninterested Fennel. Arthur shook his head at Cendir’s fruitless capering, catching Merlin’s snicker as he did.

“I’d honestly prefer it if they went back to hating each other,” Arthur said, “This is just pathetic.” Both of them laughed as they looked to Fennel, who was pretending the stallion didn’t exist.

The flat, unchanging landscape of overgrown fields made it hard to tell how far they had come, or if they had moved at all. By the time they reached the copse of trees, it had stretched and swelled into a small, dense wood. They followed the river through its heart, emerging on the other side at the top of a sloping hillside. Below them stretched a wide valley, cut like a quilt into patches of farmed land.

Merlin pointed to a few dozen dwellings in the center of a ring of plowed fields—the only signs of human habitation as far as the eye could see. “That,” Merlin said triumphantly, “is Ealdor.”

The vibrant pinks and oranges of the setting sun brushed lovingly across the planes of Merlin’s face, echoing the warmth that his smile held for the village below them. Arthur let his eyes linger for a moment, emboldened by the memory of Merlin’s sleeping embrace. The same fear as he had felt in the cave bubbled up inside him now, but it had lost its edge, blunted by the faintest chance that his feelings might not be unreciprocated. Though it was possible he was imagining it, Merlin seemed eager to share his home with Arthur, to welcome him into this place that was itself an integral part of Merlin.

For the first time, the nervous thrill of entering Merlin’s world was laced with a hopeful curiosity.

>>>

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when they reached a low rock wall that marked Ealdor’s border. A narrow dirt path led them to a gap in the wall, marked unceremoniously by a rickety wooden shack. Merlin, who was practically bouncing in his saddle with excitement, froze when he caught sight of the shack, motioning Arthur to halt with an urgency that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Arthur’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, his eyes flitting between Merlin’s face and the unassuming hovel. Something moved inside it.

A figure suddenly emerged from the shack, its details obscured in shadow. It stepped onto the path and started towards them, spooking the horses. Arthur’s pulse thrummed in his ears. He began to slowly unsheathe his sword.

The figure stopped, still a good ten paces in front of them. “Halt!” a man’s voice cried, “What business have you in Ealdor?”

Merlin let out a surprised laugh, all of the tension in his body melting away at the sound of the voice. Merlin jumped down from Fennel’s back, a wide grin plastered across his face. Arthur let his sword slide back into its sheath but didn’t loosen his grip on its hilt.

“We seek food and lodging, oh great gatekeeper of Ealdor!” Merlin shouted, starting to walk toward the man. Arthur heard the man let out a started laugh of his own. “Merlin!” he shouted. The two ran toward each other, crashing together in a familiar embrace. 

Satisfied that they were no longer in danger, Arthur released his sword and dismounted, starting toward the pair. As he got closer, the feeble light of dusk revealed the shadowy figure of the gatekeeper to be a young man with flat brown hair and ruddy cheeks. Plain though he might be, this stranger obviously meant something to Merlin. Arthur squared his shoulders as he approached them, a flutter of nerves bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

“What are you doing out here, Will?” Merlin was asking the man, his back to Arthur. Merlin had never mentioned a ‘Will’ before.

“Sentry duty. Raiders from the borderlands have been passing through the valley more and more often so we’ve been trying out a new warning system. If I light a torch here, a watchman near the mill rings the church bell and everyone has a head start.” The man paused, his eyes sliding over Merlin’s shoulder to Arthur. “Who’s your friend?” He asked, eying Arthur warily.

Merlin followed his gaze, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “This,” Merlin said, “is Prince Arthur of Camelot.” Arthur stood a bit taller, bowing his head respectfully to Merlin’s friend. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man—Will, apparently—didn’t look quite as pleased. His expression darkened as he looked Arthur up and down. “Tis an honor, your _highness,_ ” he said through a sneer, dropping into a mock curtsey.

Will’s immediate hostility was a slap in the face. Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes shifting nervously to Merlin. Merlin didn’t look particularly surprised by Will’s behavior. He shook his head slightly in response to Arthur’s raised eyebrows, pleading with his eyes for Arthur’s momentary silence.

After a tense moment, Merlin continued his conversation with Will as if nothing had happened: “We’re staying with my mum for the night. You should come round for dinner later and we’ll catch up.” Arthur’s eyes snapped to Merlin—another slap in the face.

“Paul should relieve me in about an hour.” Arthur stiffened as Will’s eyes slid slowly back to him, a challenge in his stare. “I’ll stop by on my way back.” Arthur stared back, something twisting painfully within him at Will’s lingering glare.

Merlin steered Arthur back toward the horses, waving Will off as he returned to the shack.

Arthur tried not to look too sullen as he climbed back into his saddle. He was still a prince, after all. The opinion of one villager shouldn’t be able to wound him so deeply.

But it had, of course.

Arthur kept his eyes ahead of him as they started off again. He’d spent many hours of the past few days imagining their welcome into Merlin’s Ealdor, his budding hope painting the event with an ever-rosier palette. That hope was now stamped down—not dead, but wounded.

Dread settled deeper into the pit of Arthur’s stomach as they rode towards the village. 

A few minutes later, Merlin glanced behind them, checking that they were out of earshot before speaking. “Sorry about that, I should have warned you. It’s not you—Will just resents all nobility, royalty in particular.” Arthur kept his gaze ahead of him, feigning indifference despite the knot unspooling in his chest at Merlin’s apologetic tone.

“And why is that?” Arthur asked.

Merlin paused, taking a deep breath before he responded. “Bandits and mercenaries from Mercia started passing through the valley on their way east a few years back. They mostly kept to themselves, but they’d steal a sheep or two and trampled down the fields. A few people from Ealdor and some of the other outlying villages went to Cenred for aid but he turned them away. When word got out that the lowlands were unprotected, the raiders took advantage. We’ve gone to Cenred many times but he just doesn’t care about small outlying villages like ours. Last summer, raiders killed Will’s mum and he’s blamed Cenred ever since. He says that power taints people, that you can’t trust someone born into wealth.”

Arthur hadn’t been a fan of Cenred before, but this made his gut twist with rage. A king doesn’t ignore the plight of his people, doesn’t leave them to suffer unaided at the hands of a foreign foe. Their approaching visit to Cenred’s court stoked the flames of Arthur’s indignation. Merlin snapped him out of his imagined confrontation with Cenred before he had time to call the so-called king anything too profane.

“Arthur, stop it. I know that face,” he said, pointing at the hard line of Arthur’s eyebrows. “Don’t start a war over this.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin cut him off. “Confronting Cenred will only cause more suffering.”

Arthur closed his mouth, his lips settling into a grim line. Merlin was right, of course; Cenred had a hot temper and was quick to assert his dominance with soldiers, swords, and bloodshed. Establishing peace between Camelot and Essetir had not been easy.

“But how could I ever respect myself if I ignore such blatant injustice? How could I call myself king?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath in exasperation. “God, you and your honor.” But he was smiling. “Speak to Uther when we get back to Camelot if you must, but for now, don’t throw away peace for the sake of one village. Save the hero stuff for another day.”

Arthur sighed heavily, conceding wordlessly. Sitting idle wasn’t any easier when it was the right decision.

They rode in silence past a field of withered wheat. Arthur decided that, for now, he would trust Merlin’s advice.

“Well, dinner is going to be fun.” Arthur said with a sidelong glance to Merlin.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Will isn’t my biggest fan,” Arthur said with a laugh, which Merlin echoed.

“Don’t worry—my mum won’t let him poison your food.” The mischievous twinkle had returned to Merlin’s eyes.

Arthur snorted in response, hoping to himself that her welcome would be warmer than Will’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the slowest possible burn ever written, but it will hopefully be worth it in the end. They were supposed to reach Ealdor in this chapter but they decided to just have a really dramatic entrance instead and save actually arriving in the village for later. Might take longer for the next few chapters because of deadlines. Stay tuned!
> 
> Also please let me know if you're enjoying this! I have a lot of exciting plot points planned but pining takes a while so you're just going to have to take this journey with me lol. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Going to try to post every Sunday! If you want more Pining Arthur in the meantime, check out my Merlin/Arthur oneshot 'Stay' <3


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